Confessions of the Damned
by Silent Memento
Summary: Madness... It will devour your heart, twist your mind, and tear at your broken soul. Madness considers laws to be meaningless, lives to be useless, and yet these cats have embraced it wholeheartedly. They'll all get what's coming to them...
1. Dead Cat Walking

**Disclaimer: I do not and will not own Warriors or any of its characters. All canon characters belong solely to Erin Hunter and not me. The characters you will see are not canon.**

…

Moonlight streamed from a slight gap in the cloudy night sky. The light was blocked by many tall pine trees, but some narrow rays managed to penetrate the branches and needles, which illuminated a small, lithe tom.

A burst of adrenaline coursed throughout his body as his cunning amber eyes scanned the marshes for any sign of a passing patrol. He shivered once and shook the damp from his pale ginger fur. He couldn't care less if his illegal activities were discovered, but he loved seeing the Clan leaders running around in panic. Therefore, he kept his profile as low as possible.

He called himself the Will o' the Wisp, but the moronic pieces of foxdung that were most of the Clan cats shortened the original, clever name to one that didn't make any sense, Willowwisp. He was angry, but not enough to care. They could have called him anything they wanted, so long as they feared him enough not to go out alone.

He heard their whispers, whispers that accompanied the unmistakable scent of fear. They pondered just one question: who would be next? Well, they would find out soon, very soon. It wouldn't be long until the next Gathering.

He waited patiently outside the ShadowClan camp with a dead shrew lying by his side. He wasn't a mere rogue, willing to murder any Clan cat in the open, regardless of stature. No, he had targets that made sense, and the ways he killed them made sense too. The Clans couldn't figure out the pattern, and they probably never would. Still, one could never tell if a bolt of inspiration suddenly struck an unwary opponent.

The only way they would figure out who the serial killer was would be after he had killed all of his targets. Only then would they see the brilliant pattern of blood washing away the filth of the Clans and carving a way for true peace to flow in like the water from a stream in a rainstorm, curving down the eternal path of the bank and flowing into the lake that signified the Clans.

Yes, only with blood could the sins of the fathers - and that of the mothers, as well - be washed away forevermore. His target had been picked out specifically, based on the sins of its mother. A sudden burst of future remorse poured into his mind and passed just as suddenly as it had come.

_Innocent blood must be spilled now to ensure a brighter future. Besides, it is not so innocent after all. What its mother has done is unforgivable. And so, to punish her, I must deal out justice to another! Justice will prevail, like the sun prevails over the rain clouds that come with the storm. Nature guarantees that the sun will light up the earth and justice will light up the Clans as well, even if I perish under its burning gaze._

His cold smile would have been enough to freeze an adder on a hot green-leaf day. Patience had always been his strength. His willingness to wait, even under the worst of…circumstances, had never failed him. Keen ears and a skill for eavesdropping were also valuable assets.

He had overheard his intended target whisper to her siblings that she was going to sneak out of camp tonight, when no one would be looking. She had also offered for them to come with her. They had refused, and she had decided to go out alone. Fool of a kit.

He recalled the reason why this unfortunate soul had become his primary focus. Cheating. Infidelity. The two different words blurred themselves in his brain until they were nothing but senseless noise, clamoring for his undivided attention.

However, his attention was never fixed on anything temporary. It was nearly always fixed on his memories.

He recalled the prostitute that he had killed, a WindClan she-cat. He had met her before, since she was a part of the prostitution ring that he had created. They had mated, and she had said that he was really good at this, probably the best that she had ever known.

Well, she probably meant it, until he ripped out her throat and took her still-beating heart from her chest. She had died instantaneously with minimal pain; at least, that's what he thought. Maybe she had died more painfully than he expected, but she deserved it.

He killed her, hell; he flayed the dusty-brown fur and delicate skin from her body, and he had enjoyed every single heartbeat. What he did with her heart would never be mentioned, not to any cat. However, he did take some souvenirs: all of her claws.

He had simply cut through them with his own claws, scooped up the severed objects of supposed power from the dirt with an upturned paw, and had eaten them without swallowing them. In more specific terms, he had stored the claws in his mouth like a squirrel would store nuts in its own. He had dug a hole near his nest, spat the bloody claws into the shallow pit, and, after burying all of the evidence, fell into the most peaceful sleep imaginable - for a cold-blooded serial killer that is.

His mind wandered over to a different flashback. He had just become an apprentice, with his father as his mentor. His father had had quite a few apprentices before him, but they had all died before they became warriors. He didn't care about that fact. His father was the leader and having the leader as your mentor had to be excellent, right? Oh, how very wrong he was.

His father had invited him into his den, when everyone else was asleep. It had started off normally, talking about training and other subjects that a mentor and apprentice would talk about. But before he could react, he was abused by his own father and mentor. There were also other crimes that his father had committed that were never to be spoken of.

He now knew how the other apprentices had died. There was no doubt in his mind that all of those deaths were suicides. However, he would not be ambling down the same broken path. He would end his father's violent tendencies.

He learned from these 'training sessions' that he had come into the world from an act of his father's infidelity. His father had gone to many she-cats and only one had produced kits from his actions. The future killer's purpose was now clear, and his father's fate was sealed.

When he was almost a warrior, he finally killed the twisted scum that was his father. There was no need to describe how he killed him. Not even the most sadistic killer would want to hear the tale.

But after he killed his father, he ripped open the former leader's throat and began to drink the blood that poured out. To him, the blood tasted sweeter than his foster mother's milk. It was the sweetest thing that he had ever tasted, and he vowed to have more, whatever the cost.

He had acted shocked when the new leader of ThunderClan, an elderly tom named Cedarstar, had announced that the tom's father had perished and that he would become a warrior. But the pale ginger tom truly was shocked when Cedarstar had named him deputy. The senile idiot had no idea of what he was doing.

The night he sat vigil, he quietly mocked his deceased mentor. "Are you alright, _dad_?" he sneered silently, putting huge emphasis on the word 'dad.' "Feeling a little hot, I suppose? Maybe your head hurts a little? It probably would; I bashed it in! You should have seen your brains spilling out; there were hardly any in that thick skull of yours. I hope you're enjoying your stay in hell, because you won't when I go down there!"

The flashbacks ended when he heard a twig snap. He saw the tiny she-kit that was his target stumble across the clearing. She looked exactly like her real mother, from her fluffy brown pelt, to her naïve blue eyes, all the way down to her exquisite…body part. _Foxdung! I'm acting just like my pedophilic father!_

He stayed in his uncomfortable position for only a heartbeat before finally deciding to take a risk.

"Hello, little kit," he crooned softly. "How are you doing?"

"I-I'm just f-fine," she mewed in confusion. "W-W-What do you want?"

"Me?" the tom replied innocently. "I'm just passing by. I was hiding from your patrols. You must be really smart, if you caught me."

He watched the three-moon-old kit's eyes wander away from him and toward the shrew that had previously been ignored.

"Do you want the shrew?" he asked in a sly tone.

"I don't know," the kit mewed hesitantly. "My mommy told me never to accept food from strangers…"

_And she was definitely right. This is too easy._

"Go on, you can have it," he meowed calmly.

When he saw that the kit wasn't moving toward the prey, he nearly screamed in frustration. He quietly cursed this spawn of faithlessness.

"It's not poisoned and it won't kill you!" he cried out in anger. "I swear by StarClan that this shrew has not been tampered with in any way."

The kit flinched from his harsh tone for a moment before she heard the words 'I swear by StarClan.' She accepted those words without any questions. He himself didn't believe in StarClan, and would one day end those beliefs worldwide. He would end them as well as the abuse and molestation that continued throughout the Clans.

He shook his head to clear the premature thoughts from his mind as he watched the kit sniff the shrew suspiciously and eat it with gusto. She quickly devoured half of the freshkill and was about to finish it off when her eyelids started to droop. In less than a moment, she was in a deep sleep and bordering on a coma.

"You foolish kit!" he crowed smugly. The smirk that was plastered on his face was filled with cruelty. "I kept my word. It wasn't poisoned and it certainly won't kill you. But unfortunately for you that doesn't mean that I won't!"

He knew that one poppy seed was more than enough for a kit. But he had doubled the needed amount, so that there would be no errors, no mistakes.

He grabbed the kit roughly by her scruff and quickly climbed a weathered pine tree. He cut a hole in her chest with the same precision that a Twoleg Cutter would use. He noticed her heart. It was still beating, but the beats were slow and uncertain.

With amazing dexterity, he cut an artery that led directly to her heart. The blood from the artery spurted out from the open wound and into his face. He ignored the flash of crimson across his vision and watched the kit's final moments.

The she-kit's spasms lasted for only a few moments, before she fell as limp as a fish in the grip of a RiverClan cat's jaws. He severed the rest of the arteries before extracting her untouched heart. He loved this part more than the kills themselves.

He opened his mouth and let the kit's heart tumble in slowly. The muscle was chewy, juicy, and it tasted like the best prey he had ever eaten. Of course, the best prey that he had ever eaten were the cats that he had slain, but he left their bodies untouched. He wanted their hearts and only the blood-filled organ would satisfy his insatiable lust, if only for a day or two.

He realized that he was wasting valuable time savoring this delicious meal and reluctantly swallowed the rest of it. With cold and exact precision, he began to cut off the she-kit's claws. After stuffing the trophies into his mouth, he threw the kit's corpse off of the pine tree and into the ShadowClan camp. Hardly looked like a corpse now. It looked more like a broken mass of blood and bones. He slid down the tree and landed clumsily on his shoulder. He let out a hiss of pain through his clenched teeth and began to run away from the marshy territory.

The moonlight shone on his bloody fur as he ran like a demon was pursuing him. Of course, he knew that there was no demon, only himself, a dead cat walking.

It was a pity that ShadowClan was considered to be cruel and unmerciful. After all, this ThunderClan cat had done something that no ShadowClan cat would ever do. He had murdered a kit in cold blood.

When he was well away from the territory of the Clan whom he most deeply respected and admired, he let out a primal howl. For a moment, he was no longer the esteemed deputy of ThunderClan, but a savage monster that had only begun to unleash its wrath unto the forest.

He allowed the moonlight to illuminate his bloody features for a mere heartbeat before racing back into the obscurity of the Clans. They would think that he was finished. After all, such widespread killing had never happened in the Clan's history. They would be in for a rude and brutal awakening; that is, if they weren't killed first.


	2. Lawless Times

The RiverClan camp was choked with many cats sprawled around the warm rocks, lying there as if they had all been stricken by a terrible disease. Unfortunately for the cats who wished that this was true, all of the RiverClan cats were healthy and hardy, even more so than one would expect for this time of season.

Most of them were lazily sharing tongues, talking about a particularly strange occurrence on the usual dawn patrol, or what they had caught on the first hunting patrol of the day, but the tension in the air that was blatantly denying that all was peaceful was just as bad, if not worse, than the humidity that graced the hot, green-leaf day.

But one cat didn't seem to notice the terrifying emotion that was threatening to choke his spirits. He shifted his haunches just the slightest bit to prevent aching in his sturdy joints. He watched through conniving, deep-blue irises that sharply contrasted with his coal-black fur and his dark-brown underbelly. He stared at one cat in particular: a dusty-brown, rawboned she-cat with innocent-looking amber eyes. He knew that those eyes were not as innocent as they seemed. She knew all about toms and their…playthings. She could be the lone cloud on a sunny day, and vice versa. _Damn Ivyfur for being so unpredictable._

The medicine cat, Hollowvoice, was trying to calm him down so that he could possibly ask the uncaring she-cat why the two former mates didn't stay together. What he was thinking and what the medicine cat wanted him to think were two entirely different things.

_Why, that selfish little whore! Who does she think she is? Does she really believe that she can cast me off like a…like a rogue or something? Oh, she's gonna get it. She's gonna get it right up her…_

"Brownbelly?" drawled that insufferable smoky-gray medicine cat in his repetitive, monotone voice.

"Yes?" muttered the tom, not taking his near-fanatical eyes off of Ivyfur.

"Would you kindly look at me first?" meowed Hollowvoice, his eyes not showing the slightest hint of emotion.

Brownbelly reluctantly turned his eyes to meet the almost-dead pale-green eyes of the young medicine cat. He could've sworn that a stone had shown more emotion than Hollowvoice.

"I see that we are not thinking on the same plane," meowed the medicine cat. _Great StarClan, _thought the veteran warrior._ Does this cat's voice ever change tones?_ "What must you do in order to suppress your anger?"

"Well," Brownbelly drawled in a purposely-insulting tone. "I'd kill her for bein' such an ignorant bitch. That might suppress my anger, but there's probably somethin' about that in your warrior code, isn't there?"

"Yes," meowed Hollowvoice, looking directly at the angry victim of a cheating she-cat. "I'm afraid that there is."

Brownbelly was struggling to control his unbridled fury and his obsessive desire to throttle the annoying smoky-gray medicine cat when a large tailless ginger tom rudely interrupted the conversation.

"Er, Brownbelly?" muttered the similar-aged warrior, as he anxiously kneaded his paws against the hardened, usually-muddy surface of the clearing.

"What?" snapped the black and brown tom impatiently. He was seething inwardly. It was bad enough that his thoughts of hurting another cat were interrupted, but to have them interrupted by Ivyfur's only friend was practically ludicrous.

"Uh, I just want you to know that Ivyfur wants a word with you," mumbled the virtual suck-up to his horrible excuse of a mate.

"Brightfire!" yowled the slightly older and less mature warrior. "Shut up; just shut up for once, and get outta my sight!"

The bigger, but more easily intimidated ginger tom could not have left faster if there was a promise of prey that awaited him if he did.

Brownbelly sighed in raw anger. Everything had gone downhill for RiverClan when Slashthroat was named deputy for ThunderClan. Talonstar, his leader, had grown quite…paranoid, and had come to the point where he had publicly executed a lifelong friend for "base treason." The black and brown warrior was a young warrior when Talonstar had confronted the cat who had once been his closest confident: the former medicine cat who had gone by the name of Larchwhisker.

Ivyfur wasn't even born around that time, but this was something that every cat knew about. The stocky warrior had a poor memory, and he never committed anything to it, but the brutal slaying was just something that burned itself into every cat's head, over and over again.

…

Drizzle streamed through gaps in the overgrowth and the willow trees that populated most of the RiverClan camp. Most of the cats were sleeping soundly inside of their dens, but a fat, golden-brown tabby waddled out of his den with a kit-sized smoky-gray apprentice in tow.

Larchwhisker and Hollowpaw were an odd pair for sure. By all accounts, Larchwhisker detested his apprentice for the annoying deadpan voice that he possessed and his unwillingness to care about his fellow cat, while the apprentice supposedly despised his mentor for the laziness that the more heavyset cat showed when it was time to restock herbs, although that was never openly shown by Hollowpaw, and even if it was shown, it could never be proven.

Either way, it wasn't the best of relationships, and the two medicine cats nearly always bickered like cranky elders. It was understandable, open behavior from Larchwhisker, who seemed to age by heartbeats rather than moons, but Hollowpaw's arguments were almost undetectable, and his motives seemed unclear.

The Clan had never been entirely sure of the reason why Hollowpaw had decided to become a medicine cat, but they sensed a great rift between the young apprentice and his mentor, so it was quite obvious that Larchwhisker knew what his apprentice thought.

Hollowpaw wasn't a talented medicine cat, nor was he caring, but he had the remarkable ability to shrug off his past mistakes, so he wasn't entirely useless. Still and all, that made better warrior qualities than that of a medicine cat. So, why did he volunteer to become one if a warrior's lifestyle would have suited his personality and his attributes more? Larchwhisker never told anyone – and it would stay that way.

"Larchwhisker?" Talonstar yowled. "Where are you? I require your services."

The fat tabby sighed in resignation. The leader had grown more irritable during the past moon, and he probably wanted some herbs or something.

"Hold on for just a moment," replied Larchwhisker. Turning to his apprentice, he snarled, "Go on! Get some poppy seeds, you useless heap of foxdung!"

If the young apprentice was bothered by the constant tirades and insults of his mentor, he didn't show it by even a twitch of his whiskers. Without a word or a glance, he casually strode into the medicine cat den, making sure to waste quite a bit of time before walking out with a dried poppy head with multiple seeds still inside. He spat out the herb onto the muddy ground and slowly walked away, not even bothering to notice his mentor move his bulk to pick it up.

Larchwhisker mumbled a few curses as he picked up the poppy head and barged into his leader's den. Talonstar was once a magnificent brown tabby with muscle and sinew racing all across his athletic frame. He could charge into battle with his green eyes flashing bloodlust, take on two enemies at one time, and send both of them fleeing, tails tucked between their legs, crying like kits that had lost their mothers. Alas, those days had ended; the muscle and sinew were wasted, and the green eyes showed only fear of himself and of his surroundings.

Tentatively, the medicine cat greeted his closest friend with a soft, unintelligible mew, which his leader didn't return. Larchwhisker shook out a few of the poppy seeds from the head that stored them and put them near the once-powerful tabby. Talonstar glared at the seeds as though they had just insulted him, his mother, and all of his ancestors dating up to the beginnings of RiverClan.

"What is this?" murmured Talonstar in a nearly-reverent tone.

"Those are poppy seeds, my lord," mewed Larchwhisker. "To help you with your sleep."

"I see," muttered Talonstar, opening his mouth to lick up the seeds. However, he stopped almost immediately. "Wait a moment; what do you mean by 'sleep'? Do you mean just a light nap, or do you mean a deep slumber?"

Larchwhisker hesitated for one, maybe two moments, before uttering the well-intended, honest words that destroyed any hope that he had of surviving in these lawless times. "I meant a deep slumber, because you need your rest, my lord."

Talonstar recoiled with a deep hiss. "So, you want me to sleep soundly?" he snarled wrathfully. "Maybe you wish that I would die then, so that you can take my title as leader?"

"No, I'd nev-"

"Maybe so that you could steal what's left of my glory and dignity as well?"

"Talonstar, you kno-"

"Well, my old friend," purred Talonstar hysterically, unsheathing his claws in a dangerous manner. "Did you honestly think that you could fool me by poisoning these 'poppy seeds'?"

"Poison?" gasped Larchwhisker in an appalled and outraged voice. "Why would I do that?"

Talonstar didn't answer that question immediately. "Yes, why would you?" he murmured quietly, his green eyes showing just a hint of the old Talonstar, the Talonstar that had been friends with Larchwhisker at one time. "You know that this is treason, and you know what I do to traitors…"

"What? This is illogical foxdung, Talonstar!" yowled the heavyset medicine cat. "You're sick! You're extremely sick, and you need help!"

"Don't tell me what I need, traitor!" snarled Talonstar furiously, lashing his long tail from side to side. "I _trusted_ you, Larchwhisker. I trusted you more than anyone else in this damned Clan…" He trailed off immediately and yowled, "I demand a meeting this instant!"

The leader stormed outside of the den, leaving the medicine cat a few heartbeats to reminisce about what he could've done. He heard the leader yowling with anger, but he couldn't focus on the words. Shock coursed through every nerve in his body, leaving him with nothing but numbness.

He almost didn't care when one of the warriors ushered him out of the leader's den and into the clearing that served as RiverClan's meeting place. A large circle had been made by the cats that were in the clearing at the time. Larchwhisker caught the eyes of Brownbelly and Brightfire. The tailless ginger tom purposely turned away from the condemned medicine cat, but the other tom's blue eyes were almost reverently riveted to Larchwhisker.

He didn't hear the accusations that were made by Talonstar to prove his "treachery," but he did hear the leader say angrily, "So, what do you have to say about this?"

"I didn't do anything wrong!" blurted out the medicine cat. The paranoid leader obviously wasn't impressed with that answer, because he went at the fat, golden-brown medicine cat like a hawk would go for a mouse. Larchwhisker felt an excruciating amount of pain before a dull snap ended his pain and his life.

Brownbelly shut his eyes tight as his leader viciously mauled the dead medicine cat's corpse. He heard sickening slices and the sound of claws rending dead flesh. Finally, the noises stopped and were replaced by ragged gasps of fatigue. Brownbelly opened his eyes, and immediately wished that he had kept them closed.

Talonstar was standing over the mutilated carcass of his former friend, slowly inhaling and exhaling to emphasize the fact that he was exhausted. What made the scene so much worse was not the large quantities of gore that had splattered all over the ground and Talonstar's face. It was the fact that Larchwhisker had been crudely disemboweled and decapitated. A young she-cat made to move for the…result, but Talonstar's callous words made her stop in her tracks. "Unless you would like to replace him, I'd remain where you are, if I were you," he hissed in an icy tone. Every single cat in the clearing shrank back out of fear. That was when the now-powerful tabby's reign of terror truly began…

…

Brownbelly looked at the young, weeping-willow tree near the nursery where Larchwhisker's bleached skull still remained to this very day. It was sickening to see, but it served as a savage warning to all of the Clans to choose the deputy wisely.

"Brownbelly!" yowled a distinctly feminine voice: Ivyfur's voice. "I want you here right now!"

The black and brown tom sighed and stalked over to his former mate, wondering if this time of insanity and fear would ever truly end.


	3. The Truth Hurts More Than A Lie

The sunset couldn't have been more beautiful this day. Orange and red raced across the sky, and wispy clouds floated over the moorlands, as if flaunting the fact that they could touch the sky while the grassy plains struggled to reach it.

One single cat stared up at them with calculating amber eyes that masked the true intentions of the individual in possession of them. The tom shivered when a slight breeze passed through his tan pelt to chill him to the bone. His name was Frogleg, and his occupation was the deputy and temporary leader of WindClan. He was also known as the instigator of a war between his Clan and RiverClan.

He liked to watch the sunset that was legendary around WindClan's territory, since it was said to be the most beautiful thing in all the Clans. Ironically, the peaceful scene gave the long-limbed deputy terrible ideas that plotted the downfall of RiverClan. A RiverClan prisoner had been captured while she was hunting alone on the gorge between her Clan and WindClan. She was an apprentice, but an apprentice was all they could ever capture. The full-grown warriors of RiverClan would never surrender themselves to the enemy and would more likely die fighting rather than let themselves be captured by WindClan. The WindClan interrogations were cruel, and the unfortunate prisoner-of-war would lose more than merely their life. If the tormenters were kind to the prisoners, they would kill them mercifully, rather than sending them back to Talonstar, who was said to be even more ruthless than the interrogators. The brutal dictator never let a former prisoner-of-war live after they had been captured.

That's why they had been lucky to get a spy in the RiverClan camp, and they had been even luckier that the treacherous spy was RiverClan born and bred. That spy was the only reason that they even had knowledge of RiverClan and every single cat within. All of the rival Clan's strengths and weaknesses were WindClan's to nullify and exploit to their advantage. What made it even better was that WindClan badly outnumbered RiverClan, thanks to the desertion of many proud warriors of ShadowClan. The only noticeable weakness of WindClan was the lack of food that was affecting every Clan, except RiverClan.

"Frogleg, the prisoner is in the interrogation den!"

The tan deputy cursed silently at the unnecessary interruption. He stalked over to the position of the voice until he noticed a shaggy gray tom with burning blue eyes that danced with excitement at the idea of an interrogation.

"Wetpelt," the deputy meowed softly. "Where is Brackenstar? She might wish to see the interrogation."

"…I think she's still in her den," mewed the former ShadowClan warrior. The look in his eyes turned to confusion. "Why won't she ever come out? All she ever does is eat and sleep…"

"Are you implying that our leader is _shirking _from her duties to our Clan?" Frogleg asked in a tone that sent shivers down the young warrior's spine. "The leader who was a skilled and _legendary_ warrior when _you_ were a mewling kit suckling from your mother's nipple is _shirking_ from her duties?"

"N-No, Frogleg! I never implied that…" Wetpelt mewed apologetically. "I was just concerned about her. She's never around to talk to us."

"There's no need to even think about being concerned," hissed Frogleg, lashing his tail in an agitated way. "She's _fine_. Where do you think all of our plans come from? _Me_?" The deputy let a meow of amusement escape from the depths of his throat. "You think too much of me, Wetpelt; I'm not that clever. Brackenstar is the brains behind our war. She's the mastermind, and who the hell gives a damn if she schemes in her den?"

The former ShadowClan warrior nodded. "I'll tell the interrogators to wait for her say-so before they start with the prisoner," he meowed before stumbling across a hidden thought of his. He paused before adding, "…I just hope that it doesn't turn out like the last time a female prisoner was brought here. That sort of 'interrogation' disgusts me."

Frogleg nodded in reply before walking back to the camp. Unlike most camps, WindClan had rarely built dens to house cats besides the prisoners. There were only two dens in the entire camp: one for the prisoners and one for the leader. The WindClan deputy and temporary leader headed toward the latter den. The former could wait for a little while. He was about to head toward the den when a weak, timid voice stalled him.

"F-Frogleg?" A small, dark-brown tom with nervous, light-gray eyes limped toward him while bleeding badly from his side, legs, and back.

"Dustpaw, what happened?" the deputy meowed sharply, rushing to the injured apprentice's side. "Who did this?"

"Y-You don't wanna know," muttered the apprentice.

"Wrong," snarled the deputy angrily. Despite his cold exterior to a lot of cats, he did care about the young apprentices. They were the future of the Clan, and none of them were in a situation to be wounded like this. WindClan _never_ put the younger apprentices in a position to be badly hurt, so that they could learn to fight by watching others. "I damn well want to know. Was it Rockpelt?"

"…No," the apprentice whimpered.

"Then who was it?"

"Oriolewing," Dustpaw mumbled.

The mere mention of the black she-cat's name sent an uncomfortable feeling down Frogleg's spine, while tightening his ribcage at the exact same moment. The vicious assault on the innocent apprentice proved that she was still maddened with grief over the loss of her only kit. The deputy had forgotten the kit's name, but the image still burned itself into his head. Oriolewing was so beautiful. Her sleek black pelt, the relaxed muscles that smoothly ran under it, and her unique yellow eyes…eyes where one could lose themselves in. On the other paw, the kit must have taken more after its father, Rockpelt.

_Damn that mate of Oriolewing's. Damn him to hell! I only started that war to kill the bastard…and all I've gotten in return are the constant mention of his accolades. I deserve her more than that brain-dead oaf! He considers her to be nothing more than an amusement of his. That…kit would have turned out the exact same way as him. I had to get rid of it. There wasn't any other option! She's so beautiful, but that kit… It was ugly. Ugly! UGLY!_

There was only one way that the insanity and lust that was so painstakingly hidden could show. The mere thought of the mother and her slaughtered kit sent Frogleg into shivers of ecstasy and hate. Fortunately for the crazed deputy, and unfortunately for the Clan he led, Dustpaw's look of confusion snapped him out of his savage desires and into a more savage reality.

"You should go to the medicine cat den," Frogleg mumbled in a tone of forced concern. "Those are serious wounds."

The look in Dustpaw's eyes never changed from the terror that was held within them, as he mewed timidly, "What about my mentor?"

"I'll have a talk with her," the tan tom meowed calmly. "After that, I promise that I'll find you a new mentor."

The deputy ignored Dustpaw's shocked mew and walked toward his leader's den. He had wasted enough time, and the interrogators needed her say-so before anything could happen with the prisoner. He dared to take a peek inside of Brackenstar's den and was disappointed with what he saw. Several herbs were clustered around her nest, and she looked like she was in a daze. The once-pretty golden-brown tabby was emaciated, and her amber eyes were dulled due to the countless days of herb abuse.

Frogleg shook his head in a mixture of disgust and pity. This addiction had started when Slashthroat had become the deputy under Cedarstar, and it didn't look like it would subside any time soon. He had learned from his spy in RiverClan that Talonstar had grown paranoid enough to execute a former friend around the same time. He knew from several of his contacts in ThunderClan that Cedarstar had gone insane, not senile as many thought. This _had_ to be Slashthroat's fault. There wasn't any way that those three cases were coincidences. The ThunderClan deputy was a threat that had to be neutralized, sooner or later. He was a major cat at a prostitution camp where many cats, cats from WindClan, RiverClan, and ThunderClan, attempted to satisfy their desires. He knew that Wetpelt and Rockpelt, among many others, were involved in illicit affairs inside of the barrier that he had never been able to penetrate, despite efforts from almost all of his informers. He knew that Slashthroat was the cat in charge at the camp, but there was no other proof that he had, other than ghastly rumors that surrounded the forsaken place. He had not forgotten the cold-blooded murder of Dovepaw, a WindClanner-turned-prostitute. Her throat had been torn out, her heart and claws were missing, and they had been lucky to salvage the disgusting remains of what had once been a beautiful she-cat.

The buzzards that circled the moorlands, the foul winged vermin that preyed on death and misery, were swift when it came to finding their next meal. The cowards never fought the WindClan cats, even though they had the advantage of size and flight. They only used their latter advantage to escape the enraged warriors. They would easily pick off a kit or a wounded cat who couldn't fight back, but when it came to fighting even a measly apprentice, they would fly away before the earth-bound creature could even deal a blow.

The deputy shook his head to clear it of the thoughts on buzzards to focus on another factor that could destroy WindClan: Willowwisp. That cat was the one responsible for Dovepaw's horrible death. There had also been reports of a dead kit in ShadowClan that had its heart and claws severed from its body. That seemed to be the psychopath's calling card. Claws were considered to be powerful weapons, and it was common for a warrior to take a claw from a cat that he or she killed. The heart was vital to life, and it was the main symbol for vitality. To take away a cat's power and its life was of significant importance to the superstitious Clans. There had never been such widespread murder in the history of the Clans, and most were inclined to believe that the living nightmare that stalked their waking lives would eventually fade away into the blackened pit that it had spawned from.

Frogleg was not naïve like the rest of the cats; he knew that Willowwisp would strike again. He knew that the monster had targets that it was ordered to kill, and he had to give the real serial killer credit for making sure that the atrocities were done right. It was glaringly obvious that Slashthroat was the ringleader behind the masquerade that was Willowwisp. Why else would Dovepaw turn up dead after she had told the deputy that Slashthroat was the leader of the brothel? He knew that there was only one way to deal with a maddened cat: cut it off from the source, and it would eventually kill itself. Kill Slashthroat, and Willowwisp would die.

When he was done thinking of ways to kill the esteemed ThunderClan deputy, he entered Brackenstar's den, while greeting his leader with a soft mew. His heart sank when she didn't even turn to look at him, but quickly rose to its original position when the golden-brown she-cat mewed, "Frogleg? Is that you?"

"Yes, milady," Frogleg murmured in a respectful tone of voice.

All cats, from the deputies and medicine cats to the lowliest kit, greeted their leaders with the respective titles of 'my lord' for the commanding toms and 'milady' for the rare she-cat leaders. It was taught at an early age, and if one forgot to say those simple words, harsh punishment would follow. In fact, one could consider it against the warrior code to not say those words at all.

"Are you feeling okay?" asked Frogleg in a feigned tone of concern.

Brackenstar suddenly began to purr. Frogleg panicked for a moment before he realized that the purr was more amused instead of afraid.

"You sound like a worried queen when she asks her kits if they have a chill," Brackenstar meowed in amusement, her amber eyes as clear as the skies she used to run under. "I'm fine. Now, tell me; what happened today?"

"Now who sounds like a queen talking to her kits?" the deputy meowed in a teasing voice.

"Oh, be quiet, you!" meowed the WindClan leader in a rather playful manner. She held the fun-loving expression in her amber eyes for only a heartbeat more before reverting back to her serious demeanor. "…I know that you didn't visit me because you felt like it. What do you want?"

"There's a prisoner that requires immediate attention, milady," the tan deputy mewed in a voice that was just as serious as Brackenstar's.

"Is it another female apprentice?" queried Brackenstar with an underlying tone of disgust. Frogleg was immediately taken aback at the blunt question, and he didn't dare answer his leader. He could see the fury that was bubbling to the surface of the leading she-cat, as she hissed, "Your silence proves nothing but the truth."

"I swear, milady, we'll find out more about RiverClan," Frogleg meowed in a confident voice.

"What hidden secrets do we not already know about RiverClan?" snarled the golden-brown she-cat, her hackles rising. "We have a _spy_ in their camp! There's nothing that we don't already know!"

"But, milady," babbled the deputy, his confidence fading faster than the sunset in the sky. "Milady, there might be something else that we still don't know about RiverClan…"

"If you could produce _results_ at the same rate that you produced _excuses_ and _fabrications_, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now!" Brackenstar yowled, cowing her deputy even further. "You started this war in the first place, and I expect you to end it. All you do is slink around, kidnapping an apprentice here, killing a warrior there, and yet, for some _inexplicable_ reason, the war drags itself onward. Rather coincidental, don't you think?"

The long-legged deputy only nodded dumbly, like a kit that had just had its first thorn pulled out. He had not expected this kind of furious ranting from a she-cat. Then again, not many toms would have expected it. It was extremely rare to see she-cats like Brackenstar or Windstar or Shadowstar.

Like most toms, Frogleg thought she-cats to be inferior to their male counterparts. Like most of them, they didn't expect their female counterparts to even raise their voice against them, let alone argue against them or, less likely still, humiliate them in a tirade. The egotistical tom knew of only two she-cats that had that kind of power and will over toms: his legendary leader and a young warrior in RiverClan by the name of Ivyfur.

According to his informer, Ivyfur was a cruel bitch who wouldn't hesitate to drag a friend through the mud to get her point across to them. While most toms were domineering and egotistical, the dusty-brown she-cat ignored the gender divide, and if they had skipped over a required duty or angered her in any way, she tore them down as if she was an older tom and they were merely a couple of female apprentices who had been caught backbiting and gossiping about a fellow Clanmate. None of them ever had the courage to even speak in their defense, let alone fight back against her.

However, the informer had told Frogleg a particularly juicy bit about Ivyfur. She was a whore who wasn't satisfied with merely taking one mate, staying with him and bearing his kits. The lattermost option was especially foreign to Ivyfur. She would never make a good mother. The deputy wished that he could have the chance to meet with her, if only to put the little bitch in her place.

"I'll let you interrogate the prisoner," Brackenstar meowed coldly, before adding, "But if I hear of blatant misconduct on the interrogator's part, I'm going to blame someone in this den, and it sure as hell won't be me. Do I make myself clear?"

"…Yes, milady," mewed the tan tom meekly.

"Good," the leader meowed sharply, flicking her tail to dismiss Frogleg, while eyeing the pile of poppy seeds next to her.

The deputy backed out of the she-cat's den, as he didn't wish to be around her when she was abusing her herbs. He looked around to make sure that no other apprentices or young warriors were available to further interrupt his duty to interrogate before stalking over to the interrogation den. Before he got within five foxlengths of the den's entrance, he heard a faint noise that froze the blood in his veins. He rushed into the den with haste, ignoring the stench of blood and urine.

What he finally saw in the den would have made any cat with a kindred spirit throw up. Three fully-grown toms were mounting the prisoner while two others were watching and purring as if this was some sort of perverted joke. The defenseless she-cat was on her back and scratching at the ground as if she could dig her way down to a better place, but the combined weight of the toms was proving to be too much for her. She looked too scared to even screech her lungs out.

The deputy decided to step in instantly. "What are you doing?" he hissed angrily. "You had no orders to rape the prisoner!"

One of the toms, a cream-colored tom by the name of Harefoot, stared at his deputy with baleful eyes, the left eye brown and the right one blue. "Why should you care?" he meowed in an indifferent manner.

Frogleg stared at the inferior warrior in complete disbelief, and he wondered how the bastard would look after Brackenstar would undoubtedly castrate him and amputate his paws. She _hated_ to see rape, which was the main reason why molestation in WindClan was less common than in the other Clans. In fact, her stringent laws for rape and apprentice molestation were the toughest laws he had ever seen, especially in the case of molestation. Harefoot knew the consequences of his actions, and yet he raped a female apprentice with the help of four others. The deputy couldn't believe the utter stupidity of the WindClan-born tom.

"Because Brackenstar specifically told you not to rape the prisoner!" spat the WindClan deputy. "This is your _leader_ telling you what you're allowed to do, and you're deliberately insulting her by disobeying her laws?"

"Like I care about the laws that bitch made up," muttered the young warrior. "All she ever does in that den is eat and sleep. Bitches like that get no respect from me, especially when they make up laws to defend other whores like this one." He flicked his long tail at the terrified apprentice that was bleeding badly from her flanks and lower body.

"I want to tell you a few things," growled Frogleg. "First of all, a she-cat isn't a whore if she's being _raped_ by _five_ toms. That makes her a victim, and it also makes you a pervert, although it wasn't like you weren't one before. Secondly, you're disobeying your leader. I don't care if she stays in her den. She's planning this war, and the only reason you're still able to rape innocent she-cats and toms is because she doesn't know what you're doing. Thirdly, you are a perverted scum who is leeching off of WindClan to fulfill his own desires, and that makes you lower than a riverworm at this point. Finally, did I forget to mention that I'm going to personally blind you, rip out your ears, tear your male part out of your body, and bite off your paws? If I didn't, I'll do just that after I'm done putting her out of her misery."

Harefoot tried to sprint out the den, but Frogleg bowled him over with a shoulder to the fleeing warrior's head. While the cream-colored tom was struggling to regain his senses, the deputy growled at the other warriors menacingly to stop them before they tried to go to their friend's defense.

"If you all wish to spare your own lives and tomhood, I highly recommend that you drag him over to the Highstones, so that I can deal with him personally over there," he snarled viciously. "If you do so, I'll mention that you found him doing so and told me."

The other four toms nodded with greed and respect shining in their eyes simultaneously and began to drag the unfortunate rebel out of the den, ignoring his piteous pleading and his mews that were trying and failing to remind them that he was their friend. In his desperation, Harefoot failed to realize that most 'friendships' would fall to corruption and that the desire of his so-called friends would be to save their own skins rather than stick up for a friend who was obviously going to lose his own.

Frogleg shook his head to clear it from his reminiscing and turned to see the cowering she-cat. She was obviously scarred from this experience; after all, rape was not something one could easily recover from, if they ever recovered. To be raped by more than one cat at the same time…

The deputy shook his head again. He silently promised that he'd make it quick. He unsheathed his claws and brought one paw down on her head with all of his might, while cutting her throat with the other claws. The claws aimed at her throat sliced through the soft flesh as smoothly as one could slice through the mud on a rainy day, and blood quickly followed the trail. However, the claws that went into her head stuck tight. Frogleg managed to pull them out, while sending bits of gore into the air at the same time. He snarled as he stepped into the blood and urine mixture that soaked through the ground.

Leaving the carcass of the apprentice behind, he stepped out of the den and remembered to clean himself after the execution of sorts that he swore would happen. Highstones was far away, and no cat would dare come there, save the leaders. That's why nobody would be around to see the 'exile' of Harefoot.

He recalled Brackenstar's words with a twinge of regret. He shrugged and decided not to tell her about what happened in the den. _After all_, he thought logically, _the truth hurts more than a lie…_


	4. Hatred Makes A Civilization

At the same time the thoughts of Frogleg had occurred, Ivyfur was thinking as well. She had listened to a Clanmate, a gray she-cat apprentice by the name of Splashpaw, talking excitedly to another Clanmate about the fact that she had managed to gain entry into the infamous prostitution camp.

The dusty-brown warrior obliviously wondered why Splashpaw just had to whore around with other cats from different Clans. It wasn't like there were no RiverClan toms around her age. It wasn't like they were poor at making love to a she-cat. She knew that the toms (or most of them) could easily satisfy a she-cat's desires, wants, and needs. She knew that a ton of RiverClan cats went to that camp. Brightfire was one of those cats. She honestly couldn't believe it. They were at _war_ with cats from one of the Clans, for StarClan's sake! To see a RiverClan cat with those windcrows on the other side of the border was…was evil, blasphemous, and just wrong.

She had learned from an early age to never trust a windcrow. She knew that it was a slur against the WindClan cats, but she knew that they had a slur for the RiverClan cats as well. _Riverworm…_ The very thought of it sent shivers of anger down her spine.

_Hatred makes a civilization, but every civilization crumbles from within. Why? It's because of hate for others. Intolerance and hate consumes the Clans, and it'll never change. StarClan made the Clans, but did they really have to hate each other this much? Then again, StarClan have just about abandoned this place. What, with Willowwisp running amok, the brothel gaining new members by the day, and two Clans in an all-out war…I'm surprised that they didn't leave sooner._

An excited gasp disrupted her thoughts. Splashpaw kept on running her mouth like it was a brook in newleaf, still swollen from the frozen water that it held. Ivyfur was shocked that the bitch hadn't been executed by Talonstar simply for being such a mouse-brained buffoon. Splashpaw was such a little…she annoyed the older she-cat.

She began to sigh in a loud voice, looking at Splashpaw directly. The confused apprentice walked over to the young warrior. Ivyfur had a sudden urge to claw the ears off of the gray she-cat, but she wisely held her temper in check and began a conversation that would change her life forever.

"So, Splashpaw," she meowed in an almost carefree tone of voice. "How did you get to enter?"

"It was so easy!" Splashpaw squealed loudly, her high-pitched voice filled with humor. "All I had to do was ask the guards for entrance. It was that simple."

"So, you're saying that all I would have to do is ask nicely and the guards will let me in?" Ivyfur meowed sarcastically. "Hell, why don't I just ask the birds to fly right into my mouth as well?"

"Ivyfur, what do you mean by that?" Splashpaw mewed, suddenly confused.

_You are an oblivious idiot who doesn't deserve to have kits that inherit your stupidity._

"I mean that it might take a little more than that to convince the guards about your willingness to keep your mouth shut," the dusty-brown she-cat mewed in a voice filled with fake cheerfulness.

"Oh," the apprentice meowed, thoroughly humiliated by her older peer. She then looked at Ivyfur curiously. "How's it going with Brownbelly?"

The dusty-brown she-cat froze. She recalled the conversation with her reluctant former mate. It had been at midday when the sun was blazing like an out-of-control fire. He had spoken first, his fangs clearly showing his displeasure of being interrupted.

"Dammit, Ivyfur!" he snarled. "Why'd you have to send your lackey to talk with me? I thought that you'd have the guts to stand up to me yourself."

"Guts, Brownbelly?" she queried, her head cocking to one side. "I know that you hate me. A kit could have deduced that. However, I wanted to talk to you about the brothel, not our petty relationship."

"Relationship?" His hackles began to rise, as he choked out the word as though it consisted of scores of deathberries. "You _left_ me to whore 'round with another tom! There _was_ no relationship."

"Are you going to listen to me about the brothel, or do I have to tell you again?"

The black-and-brown tom turned his head away, but Ivyfur could clearly see the embarrassment on his face as he realized that he was completely off topic. "I ne'er went there, if that's what you're implyin'."

"I never implied anything," she growled, her fangs bared. She then shifted her face to reflect an aura of calm. "What I meant to say was that I would like to know more about it. Then we could take it down."

"Take it down?" Brownbelly murmured, his blue eyes showing the trepidation that he had hidden for so long. "The last cat who tried was killed. A WindClan she-cat, if I'm not mistaken."

"I'm no windcrow," she growled indignantly. "Nobody's going to do anything about it. Sooner or later, Slashthroat will have all the power, leaders be damned!" She then paused to catch her breath for the next tangent. "He…he knows what they want. They want a break from the war. They've had enough of it. Cats are dying from a psychopath, starvation, and the fighting itself. Fogpaw disappeared only yesterday. She's almost certainly dead, and her body's going to turn up near Fourtrees like the rest of the apprentices. The queens are sick of seeing their kits die; hell, most cats are sick of seeing their siblings and friends dying in a pointless war.

"What are we getting out of it? Land? We have enough as it is. Prey? The others might be starving, but we're well off. WindClan might be desperate for food, but they have their rabbits. They'd have no more luck catching fish than we would at catching rabbits. So, why is this even happening?"

Brownbelly then cut her off. "Your point?" he asked in an annoyed voice.

"My point is that Slashthroat said that he can create an end to the war and the famine," she replied. "Most cats just want to relax, and they don't care how they do it. The toms and she-cats alike want to create their legacy, or maybe they just want to mate like crazed rabbits. Whatever way you put it, Slashthroat has a prostitution camp that has food, mates, whatever."

"And how would you know this?" he growled suspiciously.

"Brightfire," Ivyfur answered simply. "He goes there all the time, and he says that Slashthroat can solve a lot of problems. That makes him dangerous."

"What?" Brownbelly meowed in disbelief. "How could Brightfire be dangerous?"

"I meant Slashthroat, you idiot!" she snarled angrily.

"Calm down, would you? You're actin' like a bitch in heat."

Ivyfur ignored the barbed insult and replied, "Slashthroat is dangerous. If he can get all those cats to his side and get them to ignore their loyalties to their Clan…"

Realization dawned on Brownbelly. "He can take over the whole damn forest without a single battle," he muttered in shock.

Ivyfur nodded. "That's why we have to get Talonstar to help take it down," she meowed determinedly. "You're the deputy, so I _had_ to go to you first. Talonstar wouldn't listen to me, but he'll listen to you."

The black-and-brown tom nodded furiously. "I'll go tell him to get us a mission," he murmured. He then paused before meowing, "Thank you, Ivyfur. I'm…glad that you brought this up."

Ivyfur almost laughed when she noticed the embarrassed look on her former mate's face. It was blatantly obvious that he still loved her. She then decided to lie. Hell, he deserved it.

"I-I love you, Brownbelly," she stammered, masking her true feelings once again.

He stared at her in shock. It wasn't often that she would say something so openly. "I…I have to go, Ivyfur," he mewed. "I guess I'll see you 'round."

He then stalked away, and Ivyfur watched him slink into Talonstar's den, not even bothering to hide the look of contempt on her face.

"Ivyfur!" a voice cried.

Ivyfur snapped out of her reminiscing to see Splashpaw staring at her in confusion.

"Ivyfur, are you okay?" she asked.

"Me?" Ivyfur meowed sarcastically. "I'm not doing well. I'm feeling sick to my stomach, and my head hurts."

"Oh, no!" murmured Splashpaw, failing to see the obvious sarcasm that flew over her head. "Hang on; I'll get Hollowvoice."

Ivyfur shook her head in disgust as the oblivious apprentice raced over to the medicine cat den. She wondered for the second time that day why Talonstar had never executed Splashpaw for being an idiot. Everyone knew that Hollowvoice collected herbs around this time; that is, everyone except Splashpaw knew.

She wondered where her best friend, Brightfire, was. She let out a sigh of relief as she saw him eating a fish near the nursery. She wondered why he would go near the place for only a moment before realizing the fact that the big ginger tom loved kits. Ivyfur hated the little monsters, even if she was one of them once upon a time.

"Brightfire!" she growled softly. "Come here for a moment."

The ginger tom stared blankly at her before recognition flickered in his amber eyes. "Ivyfur!" he mewed joyfully. He quickly walked over to her, genuine happiness shining in his eyes. "So, what have you been up to?"

"Not much," the dusty-brown she-cat muttered in a bored voice. "Truth be told, I want to know more about the brothel."

Something unrecognizable flickered in Brightfire's eyes before they took on a look of guilt. "Come with me," he murmured, walking over to the far edge of the camp, as far away from Larchwhisker's skull as possible.

He turned to her and let out a sigh. "You know that I can't tell you anything, right?" he meowed desperately. "Slashthroat told me not to…"

"I don't give a _damn_ what he told you," she growled, her tone unmistakably harsh. "I want to know how to get in, and I want to know _now_."

Brightfire seemed to shrink in size as he looked at Ivyfur as though he was a kit that had been caught stealing a piece of fresh kill. "…I can't tell you," he mewed quietly. "Honestly, I can't. I would if I could, but-"

"I can't tell you," Ivyfur mocked viciously. "Foxdung! I've heard enough of that to last me a lifetime. 'I can't talk back.' 'I can't be anything other than a mother.' 'I can't fight because I'm a helpless, little she-cat.' You know what? Don't you _dare_ tell me I can't! I _can_ do all those things. If _I_, a she-cat, can talk about the brothel, why can't _you_, a tom, grow a pair and talk about one damn subject?"

"I can't!" the ginger tom whined. "He'll kill me if I do!"

"Tough luck," the young warrior snarled angrily, staring down her hapless friend. "_I'll_ kill you myself if you don't talk to _me_. Am I understood?"

"Yes," Brightfire mewed quietly.

"I didn't hear my name," she meowed angrily. "Did your mother ever teach you manners? You _always_ address a she-cat by her name."

"Yes, Ivyfur…" the ginger tom mewed meekly.

"Good," the dusty-brown she-cat growled, her voice now more annoyed than angry. "Don't ever make me treat you like a kit again. You know that I hate them, and I'd rather not practice my mothering abilities on you."

"Okay…"

"Are you a tom or were you born the wrong gender?"

"I am a tom!" Brightfire mewed indignantly.

"You're sure not acting like it," Ivyfur meowed in amusement.

"But I am!" he whined, his eyes showing the true amusement behind the pseudo tone of voice.

"Now what did I say about acting like a kit?" she meowed sternly.

Brightfire made a show of hiding his face. "Um, you said not to?" he meowed quietly.

"Are you shy?" the young she-cat mewed teasingly.

"Yes, I am," he meowed, his voice filled with pride.

Ivyfur then adopted a serious look on her face. "Brightfire, how do you get into the brothel?" she asked.

The tailless ginger tom looked nervously at her before remembering what she had said. "The toms need to bring in prey and not for themselves," he murmured quietly. "It can't be anything smaller than a large mouse, and it can't be crowfood either."

"And the she-cats?" asked the young warrior.

"They have no need to catch prey," Brightfire meowed. "They're at risk for pregnancy and disease, so they don't have to bring in prey." He then looked even more nervous. "Look, if Slashthroat told the she-cats to bring in prey _and_ mate right afterward, there wouldn't be any she-cats to mate with."

"So toms get all the fun?" Ivyfur meowed in a pouting tone.

"Depends on how you look at it," her friend meowed nonchalantly.

"I look at it this way: there's less work for me to do. Now, who usually guards the place?"

The light in Brightfire's eyes suddenly burned with hatred. "Slashthroat hires rogues, mostly," he growled, the prejudice in his eyes as clear as a cloudless sky. "Rotten, disloyal…" He let out a curse under his breath and glared at everything and nothing. "I _hate_ them, and you know damn well why I do, Ivyfur."

The she-cat's amber eyes softened in sympathy. Brightfire's mother had been killed by rogues when he had been a kit, and he had never so much as looked at a rogue in the same light again. To most cats, rogues were nothing but hired claws that worked for the highest bidder…in this case, Slashthroat. In most cases, prey was held in higher regard than cats who lived outside the protection of a Clan.

_But is it really so wrong? Rogues seem to love killing Clan cats, even young apprentices. Why should we respect the lives of rogues and loners when they don't respect ours?_

"So, Ivyfur," Brightfire meowed, the look in his eyes unrecognizable. "Why ask all these questions? Are you planning on bringing anyone else aside from yourself?"

Ivyfur paused for a moment. Brightfire had been straightforward and honest with his answers, and he happened to be her friend. Still, telling him the full reason of why she wanted to visit the camp wasn't wise in the least. She decided to tell him a half-truth; she couldn't completely lie to her friend.

"Brownbelly and I-"

"_Brownbelly?_" Brightfire hissed in disbelief and shock. "I thought that it was over with you two!"

"That's why we're going to the brothel," Ivyfur growled angrily. "It's so that we can move on for good! That's the only thing we have left in common. We both just want to move on to better things. Don't tell me that _you_ haven't wanted to take back some of your stupid mistakes!"

Brightfire flinched noticeably. "Yes, I've had those regrets," he mewed quietly. "I'm just shocked that you even want to see him again after what happened."

Ivyfur paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. She knew why she had left her former mate. She deeply suspected that he had been corrupted in some way since he became deputy, but it wasn't the only reason why she had left him. She had simply not wanted to stay with him. There were other toms, and that meant that Brownbelly was expendable as a mate. It was simply for her pleasure. After all, the happiness of one's self was more important than anything else, especially when there was but one life to live.

"It doesn't mean that we can't move on," she mewed calmly.

She berated herself silently for not coming up with a better excuse, but Brightfire seemed to accept her pathetic reasoning.

"I'm guessing that you want to go tonight," he muttered in an annoyed voice. "Just tell me when you want to leave…and we'll leave."

With those words, he stalked away from the dusty-brown she-cat, leaving her to think about what her next course of action was going to be.

…

Brownbelly held his breath for a moment. It was always tough for him to go right into Talonstar's den. The deputy had not forgotten about Larchwhisker or the gruesome way that he had died, and he knew full well that the very same thing could happen to him if he didn't choose his words right. He caught the faint outline of his leader, the leader that had been a powerful warrior since before he was a kit, the leader that could tear him to shreds on a cruel whim…

Brownbelly shook his head; this wasn't the time to be thinking about such things. He needed Talonstar's approval for this mission, and there was _no_ way in hell that he would disappoint Ivyfur again.

The black-and-brown tom's heart nearly stopped as he thought about his former mate. _What did I do wrong? Why does she feel the need to lie about loving me?_

He wasn't a fool; he knew that what she had said was a blatant lie. What he didn't know was _what_ he had done to hurt her so badly. _Why doesn't she just trust me?_

"Talonstar?" the deputy asked in a small voice. "It's Brownbelly."

The leader of RiverClan didn't react at first. His green eyes then met Brownbelly's amber gaze. After a few heartbeats, the big tabby finally seemed to remember who the deputy was.

"Finally," Talonstar growled. "I was wondering where you were. Do you have any news for me?"

Brownbelly hesitated for a heartbeat before recalling what Ivyfur had told him. "Fogpaw has disappeared," the black-and-brown tom murmured sadly. "We believe that she's dead."

"I suppose that WindClan committed this atrocity," snarled Talonstar. "I thought I could trust Brackenstar, but I was obviously wrong." The tabby bowed his head with genuine sorrow. "I can't believe how foolish I was to trust her and Larchwhisker. I've been a damned fool all this time…" Talonstar's head rose until his gaze met Brownbelly's. His eyes had the unmistakable look of cold fury. It was a look that froze the deputy to the very core of his being. "Mark my words; she will _suffer_ for what she has done and what she continues to do."

Brownbelly nodded furiously, knowing that any other reaction would guarantee his death. Even if he thought that Brackenstar wasn't entirely at fault, there wasn't any way that he'd say that to his leader when he was in one of his moods. One would have to be completely stupid, insane, or suicidal to commit such an action…and Brownbelly was none of those things.

"Is there anything else?" Talonstar asked testily.

Brownbelly cleared his throat. "I also want to ask you for a mission," he meowed calmly.

"State the nature of this so-called 'mission' of yours," the leader demanded.

The deputy almost took a few steps back out of shock, but he somehow found the courage to stand his ground. "I want to spy on Slashthroat's brothel, and Ivyfur is willin' to help," he mewed.

"Who's Ivyfur again?" Talonstar asked in confusion.

_She's the whore of RiverClan._ "Ivyfur is one of our warriors," Brownbelly meowed. "The warrior you just named, remember?"

"Of course I remember!" the tabby snapped. "Now, who are you going to spy on?"

"Slashthroat, of course," the black-and-brown tom answered confidently. "He'll ne'er know we're there; different cats come to his brothel all the time."

"That's the best news I've heard in quite a while," the leader purred. "You did a fine job, and I'll grant you this mission. When do you expect to leave?"

Brownbelly had no hesitation when he answered the question. "Tonight," he meowed with an odd touch of satisfaction in his tone.


	5. Perfect Lies In An Imperfect World

**Warning: This chapter contains prostitution and sexual themes (including intercourse). If you are squeamish about such things, do not read any further. Thank you.**

…

A few brave warriors of StarClan shone against the darkness of the sky, and the nearly-full moon seemed larger than life itself, as they all gazed down towards the RiverClan camp. Ivyfur strode out of the warrior's den with Brownbelly at her side. She stared into the darkness and could barely pick out Brightfire's form sitting calmly next to the entrance. He had chosen two fish as their freshkill to bring to Slashthroat.

"So, are the two of you ready?" he muttered nervously. "It's getting rather late."

"About as ready as we'll ever be," Brownbelly meowed, flashing a glance at his former mate. Ivyfur returned the glance; for now, Brownbelly was her only ally, and she didn't want to anger him unnecessarily. Not yet, at least.

The three of them exited the camp after Brightfire picked up their freshkill, making sure that nobody noticed their departure. Ivyfur was nervous, and rightfully so. She had at least a slight idea about the monster in the forest and what it could do. They had all heard about the murder of a kit in ShadowClan and an apprentice in WindClan.

_Nonsense! They were alone. We stand together as three brave RiverClan warriors. We're not apprentices or kits. Willowwisp wouldn't dare attack a group, especially a group composed of only warriors! No matter how brutal that thing is…_

The dusty-brown she-cat knew that her futile attempts at reassuring herself had not helped at all. She was just as scared as ever. Her mind seemed as torrential as the river itself, her thoughts like that of prey. She _hated_ that feeling more than anything else. Fear began to overwhelm her every sense, and every misgiving she had flooded into her mind like rain from a thunderstorm.

Ivyfur felt something brush against her flank. She whirled around, but she only saw Brownbelly's tail. She turned to look at her former mate and noticed that his blue eyes were filled with empathy. The young warrior then realized that she wasn't the only one who was afraid.

"It's okay," the deputy murmured. "Willowwisp would ne'er attack all three of us."

Ivyfur purred nervously. "Who are you trying to convince?" she asked quietly. "Is it me…or you?"

Brownbelly looked away, and she knew that he couldn't answer that question. Brightfire was watching for something, and she could see that he was uneasy as well.

_Where has our courage gone? Have we turned into mice that run from every meaningless movement? If the rest of the Clans feel the same way…we stand no chance against this evil force. StarClan, if ever there was a time where we needed you…now is that time._

"How much further?" she asked.

"It's not long," Brightfire mewed quietly through the two fish. "We're already in ShadowClan's hunting grounds. The brothel is on the northern outskirts of their territory."

"You're tellin' me that Slashthroat, a _ThunderClan_ cat, has set up a prostitution camp in _ShadowClan_ territory?" Brownbelly hissed, while the fur on his back rose. "Oakstar has to be furious!"

"I've heard that Oakstar has other things to worry about," Ivyfur meowed in a low voice. "ShadowClan's kits are being born with…abnormal health issues."

"Not to mention that almost all of their warriors have deserted their Clan," Brightfire spat contemptuously, dropping the freshkill to speak. "They're all traitors. It's no wonder why ShadowClan is in such horrible shape." He looked at Brownbelly calmly and meowed, "No, they will _not_ attack us. They can't even defend themselves."

The RiverClan deputy was finally convinced and allowed his fur to lay flat. "You better be right, Brightfire," he growled. "I'd hate to rip your tongue out for such a trivial reason."

The tailless ginger tom ignored the implied threat and meowed, "It's not much further." He then picked up both fish and walked in front of the two former mates.

"It had better not be," the black-and-brown deputy muttered angrily.

Ivyfur nearly let out a sigh of annoyance, and she wondered why toms had to be so stupid and argumentative towards each other, especially in the presence of a she-cat. These two obviously hadn't realized that competing for her attention wasn't going to work.

A short time later, Brightfire stopped. "We're here," he announced quietly.

Ivyfur took the time to look at the place. It certainly didn't seem like much. It was a shabby-looking Twoleg barn made out of an unknown material. However, it was very big, and it didn't look like the wind could penetrate its walls. Two cats stood guard near the entrance, but they were too far away to recognize. However, their scents were still clear, and it proved that neither of them were rogues.

As they drew closer, Ivyfur could see the individual features of the two cats. She recognized one guard as Wetpelt, a former ShadowClan warrior who had turned to the side of WindClan. The other guard was a small white tom that she didn't know. However, Brightfire seemed to know both of them. She sensed her friend's muscles becoming less tense as he realized that neither of them were cats that he hated. He dropped the two fish and greeted the guards.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite WindClan cat!" he meowed cordially. "Wetpelt, how are you doing?"

"Enough with the games, Brightfire," the white tom snarled. His claws were unsheathed, and his green eyes flashed angrily. "Tell me why you decided to bring along two others with you."

"Ratclaw," Brownbelly meowed coolly. "It's been a long time since we last talked. Has the prey run well in ThunderClan this green-leaf?"

"You brought the RiverClan deputy?" Wetpelt spat furiously, while Ratclaw hissed in response to Brownbelly's question. "Have you gone mad?"

"I thought that anyone was free to join," the tailless ginger tom meowed dismissively. "I brought along Brownbelly and Ivyfur, sure, but they're both here to move on from their failed relationship, not to betray secrets."

The former ShadowClan warrior's blue eyes narrowed into mere slits. "Do you expect me to believe that heap of foxdung from two treacherous riverworms?" he growled, his anger beginning to overwhelm him. "I thought that I could _trust_ you, Brightfire!"

"That's funny," Ivyfur sneered, while losing her temper. "I hardly expected a windcrow to know what the word 'trust' means!"

"Ivyfur!" snapped Brownbelly. "We're not here to pick a fight with WindClan or ThunderClan. I thought we were here to move on. Isn't that what you want?"

"Wetpelt brings up an excellent point," Ratclaw meowed. The ThunderClan warrior's eyes held a peculiar mix of suspicion and curiosity. "Why should we think that you're trustworthy? Merely having a reason to be here isn't good enough anymore. Loyalty _does_ mean something here, and Wetpelt and I are not certain where your loyalties lie."

"Why?" Ivyfur meowed, her voice dripping with contempt. "I'll tell you why: because I want to mate with someone who isn't a pathetic waste of life." She jerked her head at Brownbelly, whose deep-blue eyes filled with rage.

"Bitch!" he yowled. "You wanna play like that? Fine! You're gonna get slaughtered one day by someone who isn't so nice, and I won't be there to help your sorry self!"

"I don't need any help!" the dusty-brown warrior screeched. Murder raged in her amber eyes. "Don't act like I can't take care of myself!"

"When you gain some damned maturity, maybe you _will_ be able to take care of yourself!" the RiverClan deputy spat furiously. "Until then, _shut_ your mouth, and let the warriors talk, Ivy_kit_!"

"You're such a _hypocrite_!" she snarled. "Since when have _you_ been mature, you piece of foxdung?"

"Both of you just shut up!" snapped Wetpelt. He turned to Ratclaw and meowed, "I've just about had it with these two. I'd prefer to die and rot in hell rather than listen to them."

"You know that hell will just have their disembodied voices speaking in your ears for all eternity, right?" the white warrior meowed in amusement.

"Since when did you know so much about hell?" the gray tom mewed in confusion.

Ratclaw's eyes shifted from side to side. "I don't want to talk about it…" he mumbled faintly.

"You sure?" the former ShadowClan warrior asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," the ThunderClan warrior repeated with a much firmer voice.

"Fine then," the gray tom muttered. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, I guess."

"Are you two done talking?" growled Brightfire. "If you don't mind, my friends and I would _really_ like to get into the brothel before it gets too late at night."

"Do you _honestly_ think we're letting your friends in after they fought like _that_?" Wetpelt meowed incredulously. "Hell, I don't know if I'd invite _you_ in after that display of poor judgment."

"Sorry, but you'll need to calm your friends down and explain that they won't be allowed in if they fight," Ratclaw meowed calmly. "This is a mostly-peaceful place, and we don't let in unruly cats of any kind, no matter who they are."

Ivyfur's temper began to rise again, but she wisely kept it in check. The conversation was going nowhere, and they were no closer to gaining entry than they were before. Losing her cool and cutting the ears off of the two guards wouldn't do any good at this point, especially when they were already mistrustful to begin with.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a new voice meowed, "Now what in the _hell_ is going on here?"

Ivyfur whirled around to her right to see an older light-brown she-cat striding toward the fighting cats, a calm look in her amber eyes. She was small, thin, and definitely a rogue, judging by her scent. However, the newcomer's eyes looked familiar in some way…

"Is that you, Thrush?" Brownbelly mewed in a shocked voice. Ivyfur glared at him. How did _he_ know about this cat?

"Yeah, it's me, Brownbelly," Thrush meowed coolly. "It's been a while since I last saw you or Brightfire." Her eyes then locked with Ivyfur's. The look in that amber gaze was completely unrecognizable. "And who are you exactly?" she meowed suspiciously.

Ivyfur managed to mask her emotions, but the conflict within her rose to a fever pitch. The tone in Thrush's voice was somewhat forced, so this cat obviously knew quite a bit about her.

"I'm Ivyfur, a proud warrior of RiverClan," she meowed quietly, looking down at her paws. She mentally scolded herself for acting this timid around a cat she didn't know.

Thrush cocked her head to one side, but her gaze never changed from that observant look. She turned to face Brownbelly and asked, "Are you and Ivyfur mates?"

"We _were_," the RiverClan deputy growled.

"Ah," she meowed. "So you came here to move away from each other and on to a different path in your lives?"

"Yes, we did," he meowed stiffly. His blue eyes purposely looked away from her.

"How do you know her, Brownbelly?" Ivyfur growled accusingly.

"It's complicated, Ivyfur, but she's never been my mate," the deputy meowed. Surprisingly, his voice wasn't defensive.

"For once, I agree with him, Ivyfur," Brightfire mumbled. "It isn't what you think it is."

"Then how do both of you know her?" the young warrior snarled.

"It's far too complicated to explain in one night," Brownbelly growled heatedly. "And that's _not_ the reason why we came here."

Thrush looked at the two former lovers with mild interest, before turning towards the two guards. "Why didn't you let them in?" she demanded.

Ratclaw and Wetpelt looked absolutely stunned that the light-brown she-cat had even asked them a question. It took them a few moments to regain their composure. Ratclaw mewed, "Well, Frogleg has been trying to get spies in, so-"

"What's your point?" Thrush hissed. "Do you really think that any of them would spy on us for a cat that they hate?"

Wetpelt opened his mouth and closed it just as quickly. Ratclaw stared at the ground as though it held the secrets of the world. Ivyfur smirked through it all.

"Let them in," the rogue meowed firmly. "If they _do_ cause trouble, I'm sure that Moss can deal with them quite well." She turned to Brightfire. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she snapped. "I thought you wanted to gain entry?"

"Sorry about that," the ginger tom mewed apologetically. He picked up the one of the fish and walked in between the two speechless guards, who stepped aside, not believing the events that had transpired.

Brownbelly wordlessly picked up the other fish and walked past the guards, with Ivyfur following closely. She dared to take a peek inside of the barn and was stunned and disgusted by what she saw.

Toms and she-cats of a variety of ages and affiliations were mating _in plain view_. The cats who _weren't_ mating either ignored or didn't care about the vulgar displays and were calmly chatting with one another. They even talked with _rogues_, who happened to be the cats who seemed the most alert. To her left, she noticed Rockpelt, a senior WindClan warrior, talking with Splashpaw, of all cats.

_Look at Rockpelt; he's huge! He's bigger than most dogs, and Splashpaw…she's scrawny for a RiverClan cat. And she's an apprentice! They aren't seriously thinking of mating, are they?_

She felt someone nudge her gently. She turned around to notice Brownbelly. His eyes were as wide as the moon itself.

"I don't understand this any more than you do, and I don't think I ever will," he mewed quietly. "What I do know is that we have to look for Slashthroat and find out what we can. Understand?"

Ivyfur nodded slowly. She was gradually becoming desensitized to the lovescent that choked the air and the cats who were causing it to be there.

_What's wrong with me? This is just as crazy as the world outside, and yet I'm not as upset as I should be…_

"I'm going to talk to a few cats and see if they know anything about Slashthroat," Brownbelly mewed. "Want to come with me?"

"Sure," she muttered reluctantly. "Why not?"

Brownbelly looked at her strangely, but he didn't comment further. He began to walk toward a group of five cats, all of them rogues, who noticed them almost immediately.

Ivyfur took the moment to size up the five of them. There was only one she-cat in the group, and she seemed markedly different from the others. It wasn't her dark-gray fur, her brilliant green eyes, her athletic frame, or even her deeply scarred muzzle. It was her poise and coldness that made her look different. Even a blind cat would have known that the gray she-cat was a natural, yet cruel leader.

Two of the cats were almost completely identical. They were both sinewy toms that had blue-gray fur and light-blue eyes. The only difference was that one of them was slightly bigger than the other, and even that could have been contested.

One of the toms was completely rancid. There was just no other way to describe him. He looked like he had never been groomed in his life, and it was impossible to tell what fur color he had, due to the alarming amount of filth and grime that he had accumulated. Even his dull amber gaze seemed to show off the fact that he was one of the ugliest cats that Ivyfur had ever laid eyes on.

The last tom was easily the biggest one out of the five, being a head taller than both of the doppelgangers. He had a fur color that resembled grass that had recently died. Two things about the tom immediately stood out to the young warrior. First of all, he had the exact same eye color as the she-cat in the group. _Perhaps they're brother and sister?_ The second thing that stood out was how _angry_ this tom was. He looked like he wanted to rip her eyes out just for looking at him.

"What do you want, you little fleabag?" the tom spat, his green eyes flashing dangerously.

Ivyfur looked away from the angry light-brown tom. Her ears almost couldn't comprehend his thick accent. To her, the sentence sounded like, "Whaddaya want, ya liddle flaybag?"

"Take it easy, Heath," the dark-gray she-cat meowed firmly. Her green gaze softened just a bit. "How are you doing, young one?" she asked.

"I'm doing fine," Ivyfur meowed, still not getting used to the accent these cats had. She then stumbled on a hidden thought. "Forgive me for saying this, but who are you all? I'm Ivyfur, a warrior of RiverClan."

The rogue let out a soft purr that belied her rough exterior. "There's nothing to forgive, Ivyfur," she meowed, flicking her tail to silence the younger cat. "I have nothing to hide. My name is Stone, and I lead these…mercenaries."

"Mercenaries?" Ivyfur asked in confusion.

"That means we fight for others in return for land or prey," the dirt-ridden tom meowed nonchalantly. The light-brown tom shot a withering glare at him, but it was ignored.

"As you know," Stone continued, "This is Heath, my obnoxious littermate." She nodded her head towards the light-brown tom, who hissed furiously. "The tom who won't bother to wash his fur is named Mink." She nodded towards the grimy tom, who cheerfully bobbed his head up and down. "And the twins are called Lake and Air." She flicked her tail at the two blue-gray toms.

"I'm Air," the supposedly-smaller one of the two meowed in a clipped tone. "You can tell it's me because Lake hardly ever talks, and because I like to talk." He looked at his brother before he apologetically mewed, "Not that talking or not talking are bad things."

"Air, shut the hell up," Heath snarled.

The garrulous tom took no notice of him and started chatting with a surprised Brownbelly, who had remained silent throughout the whole conversation. Her former mate decided to walk as far away from Air as possible, while the blue-gray tom and his identical brother followed him. Heath nudged Mink, muttered something that was inaudible, and left. Mink scurried after him.

"Stone, do you know anything about Slashthroat?" Ivyfur blurted out.

The dark-gray she-cat looked stunned for a moment. "No," she murmured quietly. "I've only known the cat for three days."

"Have you mated with him?" the young warrior asked curiously, being careful not to let even a little bit of anger seep into her tone.

"Why do you care?" Stone snapped.

"I'm just curious," Ivyfur meowed defensively. "I want to know more about him, and I was wondering if you knew anything."

Stone's eyes took on a look of suspicion. "That's not the reason why you want to know, Ivyfur," she growled. "There's something else in your motives, something that you haven't told me. Do you expect me to spread silly rumors about a hospitable cat that has given shelter to me and my comrades?"

Ivyfur wanted to open her mouth and give a retort, but she found that she couldn't. The rogue had seen right through her lies. At this point, telling the truth was the only viable option.

"Slashthroat is becoming a danger to our Clans," Ivyfur meowed, while regretting that she was completely destroying the point of her mission. "Getting many cats from different Clans to join him is _not_ how our warrior code was meant to work. I'm nervous about what he plans to do with all these cats. I'm nervous about his ambitions. Call it unfounded speculation, but I don't know anything about him, and most cats nowadays are more than willing to discard loyalty to their Clan and replace it with loyalty to themselves. I don't know if he's one of those cats or not."

Stone let out a soft sigh. "I don't know the cat _that_ well," she meowed. "I can't refute the fact that he may try to do what you're saying; most cats nowadays are more ambitious than they should be. However, he's given shelter to us when the cats in your Clans would have cast us out like we were diseased. Most of the cats I know wouldn't have gone out of their way to do the things he's done."

"But you _have_ mated with him, haven't you?" the young she-cat mewed cautiously.

The rogue leader's green eyes started to burn with a fire that Ivyfur had rarely seen in any cat, before her harsh gaze softened. "I have," she murmured. A look of mischief replaced the anger in her eyes. "Why do you ask? Perhaps you wish to mate with him yourself?"

"No," the dusty-brown warrior meowed, immediately regretting the defensive tone she had. _Foxdung! Now Stone will think that I do want to mate with him. I'm supposed to be spying on the cat, for StarClan's sake!_

The mischievous look in the dark-gray she-cat's eyes grew. She meowed reminiscently, "I can tell you this, Ivyfur; there is _no_ cat that has more natural…talent than Slashthroat. He knows exactly what you desire, and he never forces anything. Anything he does is on _your_ terms, and yours alone. If you want the best tom to mate with, Slashthroat is that tom."

"But I don't-"

"Ivyfur," a new voice meowed tonelessly. "I wasn't expecting to see you here, of all places."

The young warrior nearly jumped out of her fur as she turned to face Hollowvoice. _How did he creep up behind me like that?_

"What do you want?" she snapped. She was still shocked at how silent the medicine cat was.

"I was wondering the same thing," he meowed. "What _do_ you want? Are you trying to spy? If you are, you're doing a very poor job at it."

"Shut up!" she snarled. "I don't need to justify myself to _you_." She took the chance to look behind her. Stone had already left.

"Actually, you do need to justify yourself to me," the smoky-gray tom meowed. "I'm the other cat in charge of this brothel, alongside Slashthroat. I reserve the right to throw you out for any reason I can think of."

Ivyfur was furious enough to claw the medicine cat's pale-green eyes out, but the last bit of information was enough to stop her from doing so. _Hollowvoice_ was the other cat in charge? Her interest was quickly rising. She knew that Willowwisp may have had connections to the brothel and maybe to Slashthroat himself. _Perhaps Hollowvoice and Willowwisp are one and the same?_

"You're the cat in charge?" she growled, forcing her voice to sound skeptical. "Prove it."

"I don't need to," he meowed in a deadpan manner. "If you aren't here as a harlot, then you shouldn't be here at all, and I don't need to explain anything to you."

Ivyfur opened her mouth to give out a retort, but a loud shriek from a young she-cat stopped her from saying anything.

"Stop it!"

The worst thing was that she recognized that she-cat's voice. She raced over to the source, not even caring whether Hollowvoice was following her or not. When she finally got to the front of the camp, her worst fears were confirmed. The she-cat in question was Splashpaw, and Rockpelt was the aggressor, along with another cat that she recognized: Greenclaw, the medicine cat of ThunderClan.

_But why is he involved? He's a medicine cat; he should know better than to try and mate with another cat, especially an apprentice!_

Splashpaw was lying down, and blood streamed from a fresh wound on her face. Rockpelt was licking her blood from his claws, and the look on the light-brown tabby's face was one of cold fury. To her relief, both Brownbelly and Brightfire were already on the scene. Both of them had looks of pure hatred directed toward the senior WindClan warrior, and Brightfire looked ready to spring at Rockpelt.

"You _bastard_!" Brightfire yowled. "Leave her alone! She's done _nothing_ to you!"

The WindClan tom sneered, "Well, what are you going to do about it, you puny cowards?"

Her closest friend sprung at the enemy warrior, his claws outstretched, but Rockpelt evaded the ginger tom's attack and leveled him with a harsh blow to the head. He fell to the ground, unmoving. Ivyfur and Brownbelly leapt at the monster that had hurt two of their Clanmates, but Greenclaw intercepted her and pinned her to the ground, while her former mate was subsequently pinned by his foe. She was shocked that a medicine cat was beating her in a fight before remembering that the pale-white tom had trained as a warrior as well.

"So this is what passes as a RiverClan warrior?" the medicine cat hissed in her ear. "You're just as pathetic as the rest! I'm _shocked_ that we haven't taken Sunningrocks from you riverworms by now!"

"Don't call me a riverworm!" she yowled, scratching at him desperately. She probably could have done as much damage beating her head against a tree; Greenclaw was surprisingly tough.

Greenclaw managed to pin her forepaws with his own and opened his mouth, displaying his serrated fangs to his victim. Ivyfur noticed three shapes running towards them and desperately prayed to StarClan that they were there to help her.

Her prayers were answered, as a pale-ginger tom and the light-brown she-cat that she recognized as Thrush tore the medicine cat off of her, while an enormous pure-black tom grabbed Rockpelt by the scruff and roughly wrestled him to the ground. Brownbelly leapt to his paws, spitting in fury before he recognized that they had helped him.

"Thank you all," he meowed gratefully.

"Don't thank us yet," the black tom muttered in an unfriendly tone, while he held down Rockpelt. "We don't allow fighting here. You should probably be kicked out for this insubordination."

Splashpaw struggled to her paws. "But Rockpelt and Greenclaw were trying to mate with me when I said 'no!'" she meowed in shock. "You can't kick them out for trying to _defend_ me!"

Thrush's amber eyes held a shocked look. "They were trying to _rape_ her?" she snarled viciously.

Ivyfur nodded in reply. Thrush narrowed her eyes. "That changes everything, Moss," she meowed to the black tom, who was still holding down a struggling Rockpelt.

"It's not my fault she lacks the guts to mate!" the senior WindClan warrior spat, vainly trying to break the grip of Moss. "Her goons practically _ambushed_ me, and you're taking _their_ side?"

"Then let us see how many cats agree with you," Moss growled. He looked at a silver tabby queen with deep green pools for eyes who looked to be about Ivyfur's age. The dusty-brown warrior felt a sense of jealousy that she had not felt in quite a while, but the reason why she felt that way scurried away from her, much like a terrified mouse.

"There's no doubt that Rockpelt _and_ Greenclaw were trying to mate with this young she-cat when she didn't want to mate with them," the tabby meowed, her soft voice commanding the attention of every cat in the vicinity.

"Dawnpaw, you had better stop now," the pale-white medicine cat hissed. "We're Clanmates, you know."

"I'm your Clanmate too, Greenclaw," the pale-ginger tom snapped. "If you even _think_ about touching her, I will make your life a living hell. Am I understood?"

Greenclaw spat in the tom's direction, and his reward was a blow to the face, courtesy of Thrush.

"I'll ask you again: am I understood, Greenclaw?" the tom snarled.

The medicine cat finally went limp and nodded. The tom then stepped away from the medicine cat and walked over to Rockpelt. He motioned for Moss to release the WindClan tom. Their faces were just a mere mouse-length apart.

"Rockpelt," the pale-ginger tom began, his voice dripping with contempt. "When you try to rape a she-cat, one of _my_ courtesans, you're breaking one of my main laws. All she-cats are to be treated with the respect they don't normally receive out in the world, and ignoring their wishes is something that I have _no_ tolerance for. The behavior you displayed, quite frankly, is despicable. My rules should not be ignored, Rockpelt. They are lenient and easygoing, especially when they are held to the standards of cats like Brackenstar and Talonstar.

"You're a senior warrior, and you already have a loving mate. There are many cats that respect and admire you, and quite a few of them are she-cats that are here at this moment. I'm willing to bet that some of them would have mated with you. A she-cat saying 'no' is not meant to be an insult to your tomhood. It's simply their decision, and it's one that _you_ didn't respect."

"It's – not – my – fault!" Rockpelt growled. Anger seeped through the cracks in his stolid persona. "It's their fault. Her Clanmates jumped me and Greenclaw, and we would have held them off, had you not shown up. They are violent cats who have disgraced this brothel, and they must be dealt with _harshly_. Otherwise, there's no justice in this place."

"Then _leave_," the tom meowed coldly. He flicked his tail. "Moss, escort Rockpelt out of the encampment."

"I don't need an escort!" the senior warrior snapped, scrambling to his paws. "I was going to leave this second-rate brothel anyway!" With those words, the light-brown tom stalked out of the camp, his long tail vanishing into the night.

The tom then turned his attention to Greenclaw. His amber eyes smoldered with rage. "_You_, more than _any_ other cat, know how _important_ these laws are to me," he hissed. "As punishment for your lack of control and integrity, you are hereby permanently banished from this place. If you try to return for _any_ reason, I will maim you with no qualms whatsoever."

Greenclaw didn't move so much as a mouse-length, and his green eyes showed nothing but pure hatred. The pale-ginger tom turned to Thrush and Moss.

"Get him out of my sight!" he ordered.

The two rogues roughly escorted the white tom out of the brothel, ignoring his furious hisses of protest. Ivyfur then turned to the pale-ginger tom and finally realized that he was none other than Slashthroat. She was very shocked at how small he was. He was exactly her height and had the same lithe build that she had. Even with the sinewy muscles hidden under his pelt, he still looked more like an apprentice than anything else.

The dusty-brown warrior watched as the ThunderClan deputy calmly walked over to Splashpaw and gently licked her ear.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly. There was no mistaking the care that he had in his tone. "He didn't hurt you badly, did he?"

"N-No…" murmured Splashpaw. She looked shaken by Rockpelt's assault, and she had a nasty wound on the left side of her face, but aside from that, she seemed fine.

The ThunderClan deputy nodded and walked over to Brightfire, who was just beginning to get up.

"My head hurts…" her friend muttered before looking at the brothel leader. "Oh, hello, Slashthroat. How are you doing?"

"Get up," Slashthroat meowed icily. "You are coming with _me_. Don't even think about making a scene."

"What do you want to talk about?" Brightfire mumbled, still a little dizzy from the injury Rockpelt gave him.

"You," the ginger tom meowed simply. However, the cold glint in his amber eyes showed his true emotions. "That is, unless you want others to listen to me telling you how much of an _idiot_ I think you are?"

"Fine," growled the tailless tom, while he slowly got to his paws. "Be that way." The two of them walked out of Ivyfur's line of sight. She was tempted to listen to what they were talking about, but a familiar cat decided to intervene.

"Hello," Dawnpaw meowed. "Ivyfur, is it? Why don't you come with me for a moment?"

Ivyfur nodded slowly. She was too tired to argue with the silver she-cat. They walked over towards a nest where no cats were close enough to eavesdrop.

"What do you want, Dawnpaw?" Ivyfur meowed irritably. "There's so much that I'd rather do than talk to a pregnant she-cat."

Dawnpaw's eyes shone with amusement. "Are you saying that you wouldn't even talk to your own mother if she was pregnant?" the queen mewed teasingly.

"I wouldn't," the warrior meowed in annoyance. "It seems like the only thing they want to do is talk about their kits or how 'nice' it must be to have them. Sorry, but I'm not planning on bearing children in this lifetime."

"I wasn't going to talk about that, Ivyfur," the silver she-cat meowed. "I do want to know if that handsome tom with you is available."

"You mean Brightfire?" asked Ivyfur.

"No," Dawnpaw mewed nonchalantly. "I mean the black-and-brown one. What's his name?"

"His name is Brownbelly," Ivyfur meowed coldly. "He's with _me_."

A cat like Splashpaw would have likely flinched from the dusty-brown she-cat's tone, but Dawnpaw was obviously not one of those cats. She started to groom her paw in an almost-carefree manner, which served to annoy Ivyfur.

"It doesn't seem like you two are mates," the silver queen meowed coolly.

"And why the hell do you think we aren't?" the dusty-brown warrior growled.

Dawnpaw stared at her new rival with a shocked look on her face that couldn't have possibly been faked. "You've slept with every tom in RiverClan that _isn't_ Brownbelly. How can you possibly say that the two of you are mates? How do you think _he_ feels?"

"You don't know how he feels!" snapped Ivyfur.

Dawnpaw's face then took on a look of sadness. "I do know," she mewed. "Slashthroat does the same with me. The only difference between him and you is that he still _cares_ about me. He always lets me know that I come first and foremost. But you never gave a damn about Brownbelly."

Ivyfur felt her inner rage simmer within her quivering body. _How dare this…bitch insinuate that I don't care!_ It took all of her willpower not to lunge at her counterpart.

"Please, Ivyfur," the silver she-cat mewed. "Just think about what I've said. It'll only take a little bit of your time." With that, the queen left the conflicted dusty-brown warrior to her own thoughts.

_Maybe she's right. Maybe I do need to think about what I'm doing to Brownbelly. He's never cheated on me. He may not have been around much, but that could be his deputy duties, not because he doesn't want to spend time with me. I just don't know…_

"Why are you still here?" a familiar cat asked.

Ivyfur looked behind her to see none other than her Clan's medicine cat, Hollowvoice. She still couldn't understand how that cat could sneak up behind her so easily.

"Leave me alone," she growled. "What I do here is none of your concern."

"You really should leave," Hollowvoice meowed in his typical flat tone. "It's fairly obvious you aren't going to mate with any cat at this time."

Ivyfur decided to think for a moment and made her decision. "I was actually planning on mating with Brownbelly," she answered coolly.

"Really?" the medicine cat replied. Ivyfur couldn't believe that the smoky-gray tom somehow managed to answer her question in a monotone voice. "I was under the impression that you two weren't mates."

She paused and decided to answer her Clanmate honestly. "I've thought about what I've done," she mewed quietly. "I was wrong to cheat on Brownbelly. I want to make it up to him."

Hollowvoice's pale-green eyes met her serious amber gaze. He stared at her for about a heartbeat before accepting her truth. "Ivyfur, I can tell that you aren't a bad cat at heart," he meowed. "Brownbelly isn't a bad cat either. The two of you were made for each other, and he'll be happy to see that you love him again."

A wave of regret flowed through the dusty-brown warrior, riveting her eyes to the ground. She nodded once and left the medicine cat to find Brownbelly. She found him near the exit, but her heart stopped the moment she saw him.

He was mounting a familiar silver she-cat. Her heart began to tear itself apart, and a horrible, unfamiliar emotion flowed through her body, leaving her unable to move.

Brownbelly's deep-blue eyes finally met her amber ones. The look in them was horrified, and he stopped instantly. Dawnpaw had a defiant sneer on her face when she noticed Ivyfur looking at them.

"Ivyfur," he stammered, remorse pouring from his voice. The dusty-brown warrior began to shake uncontrollably, as she backed away from her former mate. "Ivyfur…"

She turned and ran from the scene, an agonizing pain lancing through her body. She wasn't looking at her surroundings and collided with another cat.

Slashthroat looked shocked as Ivyfur tumbled to the ground. "Are you all right?" he asked in concern.

"Brownbelly," she began, her voice trembling. "No, no!" Her body started to quiver as though she was a newborn kit.

The brothel leader's amber eyes were filled with worry as he helped her to her paws.

"Come with me," he meowed calmly.

She wordlessly complied and followed the tom as a kit would follow its mother. He went into a den that Ivyfur recognized as his own. The den was fairly large, but there was only one nest. He directed her toward the nest, and she obeyed, still in shock. The pale-ginger tom turned to face her.

"We live in hell," Slashthroat murmured.

"What?" the dusty-brown warrior asked in confusion.

He let out a soft sigh. "Let me explain just a bit," he meowed, his amber eyes lost in memories. "Life is cruel. Terrible things happen to all of us, and the sad part is that most of them can be prevented. Stupid things like conflict and greed prevent us from being all we can be in life. It's all so…pointless. It's a _pathetic_ state of affairs, and the only way out is death. It doesn't matter whether we go to heaven or hell; to some cats, even the worst possible afterlife holds more hope than their earthly lives.

"That's why I firmly believe in that phrase. Even hell has more positivity than the lies we live. Make no mistake; we live our perfect lies in an imperfect world. Why else do we keep things such as secrets?"

"That's a rather pessimistic view," Ivyfur mewed quietly.

The pale-ginger tom's head drooped. "You're still young," he meowed with a hint of sadness in his tone. He opened his mouth to say something else, but he quickly closed it.

"So are you," she meowed in disbelief. _Was he really going to say that I didn't understand?_

"I can see that something is bothering you, Ivyfur," Slashthroat meowed, quickly changing the subject. "What is it?"

Ivyfur's mind started to race. There wasn't any way in hell that she'd tell any cat what was truly bothering her, but it would be rude to simply shrug off the cat when he was genuinely concerned. She thought of the other thing that had worried her at the brothel.

_Hollowvoice…_

"What?" the pale-ginger tom asked in confusion.

Ivyfur silently swore at herself as she realized that she had spoken her thoughts out loud.

"It's Hollowvoice," she mewed, unable to keep the words from spilling out of her mouth. "I think he might be Willowwisp."

Something unrecognizable flickered in the ThunderClan deputy's amber eyes. "Do you have _any_ proof?" he asked curiously. "That's an extremely serious accusation."

"Well, he's always gone from the RiverClan camp," she began. "I know that Willowwisp has connections to this brothel, and he told me that he was the other cat in charge. He's not exactly the type of cat that you can fully trust."

"I completely disagree with that last comment," Slashthroat meowed calmly. "Hollowvoice hasn't given me a single reason to doubt his trustworthiness. He's been very honest during the time I've known him, and I know when most cats are lying to me. He simply doesn't trust cats within his own Clan – and he has a good reason for that."

The dusty-brown she-cat looked down at her paws. "Why wouldn't he trust the cats in his own Clan?" she asked in confusion. "They're his Clanmates, for StarClan's sake!"

The pale-ginger tom let out a harsh purr. "Would you trust anyone in your Clan when you have a ruthless, paranoid dictator as your leader?" he replied in a dry tone. "Talonstar isn't exactly known for his benevolence. He executed his own medicine cat and the deputy before Brownbelly for no reason other than treachery that didn't exist. He drove away every cat – Clanmates or not – who needed his help based on an unfounded fear of them murdering him in his sleep. I personally wouldn't trust him with my future kits."

Ivyfur's fur bristled. "What do you have against Talonstar?" she asked coldly. "He was a powerful warrior before you were born. We're just waiting for him to return to what he was."

"You might as well wait for half-Clan cats and loners to be accepted for who they are rather than where they were born," the deputy growled with just a hint of anger in his tone. "You might as well wait for the stars to fall to the earth. It won't happen in our lifetimes."

"Those 'stars' are brave warriors who have died for their Clans," Ivyfur snarled, her eyes burning with fury. "You should show them the respect they deserve."

Raw anger began to smolder in the eyes of the pale-ginger tom, but it was gone in an instant. The emotion that replaced it was something that Ivyfur never expected. There was _pain_ in his amber eyes.

"I'm sorry for saying that," he meowed in a regretful tone that sent shivers down the dusty-brown warrior's spine. "It was wrong of me to disregard your beliefs. I didn't know that you felt so strongly about them, but I shouldn't have assumed otherwise. Please forgive me."

"Apology accepted," she murmured. She brushed against the deputy for comfort and was pleasantly surprised to find that he didn't reject her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a movement outside the den.

_It doesn't matter. I'm happy, and that's all I've ever wanted…_


End file.
